


Is this seat taken?

by tryin2bsensible



Category: One Direction (Band), Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: Both of them are interrailing, First Meetings, M/M, Spain, for those who don’t know what Interrailing is, if that scares someone off same, it’s not a kink asdfgh it’s basically travelling through Europe by train, train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-27 19:56:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryin2bsensible/pseuds/tryin2bsensible
Summary: Niall spends his summer interrailing in Europe because his best friend Harry told him it would be a blast. It isn't. Until he meets a boy on a train.





	Is this seat taken?

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe people clicked on this story. But THANK YOU for doing so!
> 
> This is a drabble I originally posted on Tumblr as a fun birthday gift for my lovely @ithinkimgonnawinthistime but since I am one of the biggest AO3 readers myself, I wanted to post it here as well because giving back and all.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It is hot in the train, almost unbearably so.

  
It wouldn’t be so bad really if he‘d only kept the stupid hand fan Harry had sent him to his hostel in Barcelona a few days ago. _„Life would be nothing without fans“_ the accompanying note had said, along with a selfie of Harry and Louis doing thumb-ups and cheery goofy faces. Niall had even chuckled about it for a second before placing the fan god knows where in order to continue studying the cityguide for interesting sites.

  
Well, he regrets his carelessness now.

  
With a sigh Niall stops rummaging his backpack and lets himself fall back onto his seat.

  
Alright then. No air conditioning, a window that doesn’t open and stuck on a train in Spain in the middle of August. That‘s fine though. It’s only three hours to Madrid. He can do this.

  
***

  
He can’t do it.

  
Ten minutes in and the back of Niall’s shirt is uncomfortably clutching to his skin. Fifteen minutes in and he curses the day he ever decided to leave the cool and comfortable benefits of Manchester’s university campus for a month of going Interrailing on the hot and sticky continent.

It had sounded like fun, is the thing. Harry had made it sound like an absolute blast when he’d prattled about his legendary Interrail trip through Europe for months and months on end - the one he did after his second semester. The one he met Louis on. „You experience so many different cultures, Niall. It’s amazing“, he’d said, all dimples, scrunchy nose and starry eyes. „It has taught me so much about myself, you know. Like, it made me figure out important stuff, I think. Like the things that I felt were missing in my life.“

The things Harry had been missing up until that trip were mainly a good lay and someone patient enough to keep listening to his never-ending stories, was Niall’s take on it. All of which he’d finally found in Louis. Niall doubts sticky train compartments played a huge role in it.

„Umm…discúlpeme?”

 A voice directed at him suddenly startles him out of his thoughts.

„Está… está ocupado este asiento?“

A nice male voice for sure, yet with a terrible, terrible American accent.

For a moment, Niall considers ignoring the person. It’s so bloody hot after all and he really can’t be bothered dealing with anyone elses whimses on top of his own. He might be friendly most of the time, yes, but only within reason.

But then a movement to his right makes him look up and. Oh.

The guy that voice belongs to is cute. Very cute, if he’s being honest. Beautiful in fact, in an innocent, sort of boyish way. Brown curls, lean figure, bright eyes, smooth skin, broad jaw – a true Clark Kent type, Niall thinks and swallows. Yes, Clark Kent, only without the glasses and younger.

„Err, esta ocupado…“ the guy repeats, now smiling awkwardly and pointing to the empty seat next to him. „…ocupado este asiento?“ His accent is just as horrendous as it was ten seconds ago, but he’s getting more and more self-conscious now if the slightly higher tone of his voice is any indication.

Only then Niall notices that apparently he’s been staring. He stirs. „Excuse me, what?“ 

And speaking daftly now too, great.

„Oh, thank god you’re English!“ Clark Kent Without Glasses sighs in relief and looks at the ceiling for a second before resting his eyes back on him. „Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just, my Spanish is not so great and… I mean, I could have tried in English? But I did not want to assume that everyone knows English because I don’t want to be that person and I’m travelling to learn, you know?“ Niall doesn’t. „So yeah. Umm, what I meant to ask was, is this one taken?“

Clark Kent Without Glasses eyes the seat and runs a hand through his slightly sweat-damp hair, seemingly embarrassed about his rambling. Niall can’t help but stare at the subtle flush that has appeared on the guy’s cheeks.

„Yeah, sure“, he says eventually and waves in the direction of nowhere really.

Chill the fuck out, he thinks because, honestly, he never gets flustered. Ever. He didn’t get flustered when he met his first serious girlfriend on the Australian Student Exchange Programme back in Lower Sixth. He definitely didn’t get flustered when he met his first serious boyfriend in golf camp two years later. He’s basically lived 24 wonderfully non-flustered years at this point, so he doesn’t really understand why all of a sudden he feels like he should say something particularly laddy without having a single clue what this could be.

Thankfully, Clark Kent Only Younger saves him.

„So… are you Scottish or something?“ He has fully settled into his seat by now and looks at Niall curiously.

“Scottish?!” Yeah, no, _this_ is something Niall can handle. The bloody nerve. ”No, mate, I’m Irish. Born and raised in the beautiful country of Ireland, me.” He goes for an over-the-top smile and puffs his chest out mockingly to further get the point across.

To his utter disappointment though, the face of his seat companion remains adorably blank.

„You do know Ireland, don’t you?“, he tries for sarcasm, mildly offended when he still doesn’t get a response. „Like, that’s in Europe“, he adds a bit more sniffily. Honestly, Americans and geography.

Glassless Clark Kent raises a set of manly groomed eyebrows. „I know that Ireland is in Europe“, he scoffs. His expression stays indignant for a moment before eventually breaking into a grin. „I just wanted to tease you a bit to get you back for letting me embarrass myself with my poor Spanish.“ He holds out his hand, chuckling. „I’m Shawn, by the way, from Canada. Nice to meet you.“

Canada. Right. Huh.

„Niall. Nice to meet ya, mate. And for the record, that was so not funny.“ Niall has a feeling by the way Shawn smirks that he didn’t sound very convincing. He can’t say that he minds though because next thing he knows they are shaking hands - and, to his pleasant surprise, Shawn’s fingers feel like a familiar mix of roughness and softness. A guitar player. Jackpot.

A strange feeling of giddiness ripples through his chest and makes him want to hold on to the hand just a little bit longer. He doesn’t though because he’s not a perv, so he bites back a smile and tries to go for an earnest tone. „Also before you ask: yes, we do have electricity in Europe, and the Internet – and Coke. That’s not exclusively an American thing…“

A slap on his shoulder cuts him off and makes him huff out a laugh.

„I’m neither uneducated nor American, stop it!“ Shawn rolls his eyes and tries to surpress a grin but fails poorly at it. Again Niall‘s chest tugs funnily at the sight, this time with pride and something else, something foreign and bubbly and warm.

„Have you though? Electricity? Now funny you say that...“ Shawn fixes him with another amused look. „Because if you do, _mate_ , you should have air conditioning as well, and frankly“, he dramatically wipes over his sweaty forehead, „this whole train situation here…how do you say in Spanish…sucks.”

With a scandalized hand over his chest, Niall fake gasps. “Sucks, eh? And here I thought you Canadians were prudes!”

“Disappointed?”

“No. Why? Do you want me to be?”

“Maybe.” Shawn wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “Or maybe I just want someone to take my mind off the fact that I’m literally stuck with my clothes to this seat by now.”

They both laugh softly and remain staring at each other quietly for a few moments. There’s a tension there, something that Niall can’t fully pinpoint, but it’s something alluring, something pulling, like a dislocated pattern clicking into place. Maybe that’s what Harry has been talking about all along.

„So“, Niall clears his throat after another awkward moment, trying to shake off the subtle buzz he feels under his skin. He knows it’s adrenaline, he does, but for now he’s more comfortable pretending it’s the heat. „You‘re going to Madrid, too?“

Shawn looks down for a second, then smiles timidly before biting his lip. „Yeah“, he says, softly. 

And that. Okay.

„Cool, me too“, he says and is mortified to note that he is croaking. Fucking _croaking_.

„Cool“, Shawn chuckles.

„Cool“, Niall repeats and hates himself even more.

God.

It’s going to be a long three hours.


End file.
